


Christmas eve

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Series: Lease aggreement [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Established Relationship, M/M, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:43:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: He was rummaging through the other things in the cube -- two remote controls, a packet of tissues, a charger cord, a coupon postcard to Silver from someplace called The Fishy Nugget -- when Silver cleared his throat and said, "Hey, so, I was wondering if you had any official policy against opening presents early."





	Christmas eve

**Author's Note:**

> #silverflintdow words used for 17 Dec. and 24 Dec.: contempt, pray, glass, light, music, letter

"I swear it was light out a minute ago," Flint said as he looked out the living room window. "One minute, day; the next, night. Like someone snapped off a lamp."

The world beyond was hard to detect out there in the darkness, with the glass reflecting everything in the room that sparkled: the Christmas tree lit with stars, a few candle flames, glittered N-O-E-L pinned to a length of silk ribbon on the mantle, snowflakes hung at varying heights in the doorway. Flint sighed and squinted with an amount of contempt he wasn't entirely proud of. He could just make out the neighbor-across-the-way's nativity scene, where two of the three wise men had tipped over from boredom and wind and five (5) inflatable Santas accompanied them in the yard. 

"A scrum of Santas," he mused. "A splinter group of Santas."

"Mmm." The way Silver made the sound proved he wasn't really listening.

On the radio, the Christmas music channel, which had for the most part in the last hour kept to tolerable classical renditions of ye olde carols, started blaring a song that started with the lyrics, "I pray on Christmas that the Lord will see me through," and Flint sprinted to the corner to punch it off. He pulled himself up short right before crashing through the wall and managed to knock the radio off the shelf in the process.

That got Silver's attention. "Does Harry Connick Jr. warrant this level of violence?" he asked from the couch.

Flint picked up the newly multi-piece radio and deposited it immediately in one of those square lidded ottoman cubes that doubled as storage. Radio repair would be achieved in the new year, because winter was for projects when one had the soul of a 92-year-old man.

He was rummaging through the other things in the cube -- two remote controls, a packet of tissues, a charger cord, a coupon postcard to Silver from someplace called The Fishy Nugget -- when Silver cleared his throat and said, "Hey, so, I was wondering if you had any official policy against opening presents early."

When Flint looked up Silver was looking away. Silver had seemed distracted most of the week; he hadn't caught up on sleep missed from the crush of Hamilton House wish list shopping and wrapping, and today he'd been, Flint realized, abnormally quiet. The idea that he was pining for a present made Flint smile to himself.

"My grandmother always insisted we should open one present on Christmas Eve." Flint stood up to go to the tree, thinking about what he'd already wrapped and what he'd planned to finish up last minute. Maybe he'd pick the heavy brass letter opener, cast at one end from a real pine cone. He knew Silver would like it because Silver was secretly into fancy stationary and accompanying accessories.

"No. Okay, just. Wait here." Silver dashed out of the room.

Flint sat on the couch as ordered. With every minute Silver didn't return a spidery anxious feeling climbed further up Flint's back; the wall clock in the kitchen was the only sound in the house, its ominous ticking amplified like a pulse trapped beneath a floorboard.

He was about to go as mad as a Poe villain when Silver finally came in, head down, a square photo album in his hands. He stayed at the doorway and took a couple of breaths before looking at Flint.

"Okay. So." Silver bit his lip. "You know how you have an idea, and it sounds good at the time, and you work on it and it turns out all right, basically, but then the longer you think about it, you how see the less great it might be? Even if it worked. There's something-- You maybe shouldn't have gone through with it?"

"I do not," Flint lied slowly, as non-threateningly as possible. "What are you talking about?"

Silver walked over and sat down beside him on the couch. He put the album in Flint's lap. He said nothing else. He watched the snowflakes sway. Flint could see the candlelight glistening in his eyes; it made him feel bereaved.

And then Flint looked down at the front of the album, where a glossy 8x10 photo was placed in a frame right in the middle. Miranda and Thomas were standing there, each bundled in what appeared to be nineteen layers of winter clothing. Sweaters, thick boots, puffy coats, long red and green scarves, gloves, floppy yellow hats, a red and black plaid blanket spanning their shoulders like they'd mugged a Scotsman. They were standing in front of Flint's own porch, fat white flakes dotting down around them. Miranda's slightly blurred left hand was caught halfway up, like she had either waved or was about to. Thomas held her right hand, and he was reaching to his right as if to pet the decorative reindeer Flint used to put out at the holidays. They were _vibrant_ , faces ruddy in the cold, the very embodiment of twinkling eyes and knowing grins; they were so alive Flint did not know how his heart could keep from stuttering dead right there while he sat on the couch.

"How?" he whispered. It was a hundred questions he had no way to voice otherwise.

"The big box of Christmas stuff," Silver said in a hushed voice. "When I was in there trying to find that other set of ornaments you thought were missing, there was this bag. Like a plastic sack from a grocery store." He paused. "When I was putting everything from the giant box I thought was trash in an actual trash bag, I dumped out the sack's contents, just in case there was anything to save. There was a roll of film in there -- in one of those little canisters, an actual roll of film. And I just." He paused again and looked at Flint. "I had a hunch."

Flint opened the album. On the first two pages, Thomas, in housecoat and furry slippers, was gesturing at a pair of binoculars he'd just unwrapped and Miranda was drinking a cup of cocoa with an enormous blue ribbon tied around her head. The binoculars were from her. Flint knew that what Thomas had given her, a nearly coffee table sized book of maps, was behind her where she sat on the floor in her emerald green flannel pajamas. At the edge of her photo the light smeared.

"Joji said the film was basically intact, not too much heat damage or anything. The negatives are pretty fragile, though. They're at the back of the album, in one of those little acid-free envelopes. All of the pages are acid-free. And none of the photos are glued in or anything, they can be rearranged however you want. Joji helped put them in and we basically stuck to the order you must have taken them in."

"Joji does photos for one of those shops Max owns?" Flint heard his own voice; he sounded like he'd had laryngitis for a month.

"Yeah. Most of what they sell these days are those super high-end digital cameras and printing services for same. The shop has a select assortment of old school film cameras and Joji still works with film from time to time. For special projects." Silver was studying his palms like they might have winning lottery numbers written on them.

That Christmas morning Miranda had taken a nap on the living room floor. "Like a cat," Thomas had whispered as he took Flint's hand. In their bedroom they'd stayed extremely awake, hands and mouths on each other like they might get caught by someone who'd mind. Afterwards they'd woken Miranda up by fixing brunch and Thomas trying, and failing, to remember all the words to "Come Landlord Fill the Flowing Bowl". The afternoon was nothing but lazy enjoyment of presents -- Flint had been given an antique book about ships and a different antique book about ships -- and the eventual donning of the many layers of clothing and venturing outdoors, for the purposes of "hearty health," according to Thomas, and "seasonal insanity," according to Miranda.

Flint thought, If I'd known it was our last-- He had nowhere to go from there. 

He put the album on the floor. He leaned towards Silver, saw the smallest relief in his face as Flint pulled him into an embrace. "I will never be able to express how much this means to me," Flint whispered. It wasn't enough to hug him from the side. He needed Silver enveloped so well he'd never doubt what Flint felt. 

Silver nodded and sniffed shakily. They wound up tangled like tinsel, Flint wrapped around Silver and holding as tight as he dared until they both stopped trembling. 

"Glad you like it," Silver said after a while. 

It made Flint almost start laughing to hear the tiny smugness in Silver's tone. "Fuck," he said. "I'm going to have to give you half of my possessions to come anywhere close to giving you a gift as good as what you've given me."

"Don't worry about it." Blythe but still a little smug.

Something occurred to Flint. A calmness, pure surety, settled in his bones as he laid out the thought in his mind again. He sat up again and arranged Silver so he could see his face. "If you married me," Flint said, "half of my possessions would just be yours, and I wouldn't have to do quite as much paperwork."

"Well, I'd hate to put you through paperwork." Silver pulled back suddenly. "Um."

Keep steady, Flint told himself. Be cool. "Just think about it. No rush."

"Think about what?" Silver asked, his expression a third each terrified, confused, and hopeful.

"I love you," Flint said. He kissed him gently.

Silver returned the kiss and then said, _"That wasn't an answer."_

Flint smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> \- i ran out of intelligence for a better title. apologies.
> 
> \- Season's greetings, y'all :)


End file.
